


Somewhere on the Spectrum

by CurlzAbound



Category: The Guild
Genre: F/M, References to Sex, a pov that has been described as a 'jump-skip-OMFG thing', ao3million, more comedic than romantic, now it's an AU, on pretty much permanent hiatus, transfering fic to ao3, was speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlzAbound/pseuds/CurlzAbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Codex self-analyzes and contemplates her present state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I wrote _ages_ ago. And I actually haven't finished the most recent seasons of The Guild, so if anybody is wondering why this seriously dated AU is wandering around right now... well, that's why. Because it's old. But I love it anyway.

Yeah, she was awkward. But so were a lot of people. Nice people. People with straight hair and wavy hair and curly hair. All directions on the hair spectrum.

Would there actually be a hair spectrum? Or would it be more of a hair…

Why was she referring to hair? This was about her state of being. Sure, hair might have a lot to do with that for her, but what works, works.

She beat _him_ didn't she?

Yep, she nailed that anarchist right in the kisser.

And ended up kissing him by the end of the night.

Funny how things turn out…

But being awkward was part of her charm. That's what her therapist had said. She had to maintain a balanced esteem level to move forward with her life.

Of course, she had lost her therapist in an unceremonious dumping by phone.

Forward not so much, but moving sideways was a distinct possibility.

She was supposed to set goals. She was supposed to cut down on gaming, create a normalized social life.

She hadn't succeeded on cutting back (except for that unintentional party… did that count?) but she did have a social life. Where she occasionally (more than previously) saw those personas in person.

It might not be normal, but what really was _normal_ nowadays?

Probably not anything to do with her. Normal tends to stay far away from her camp. Most likely afraid of trolls.

And what did her therapist (former) know anyway? Her awkwardness was counteracted by her badass game play. That badass game play had gotten her a date.

And laid.

And waking up after said date with a kilt covering her… upper region…

And back came the awkward.


	2. Pickle'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written initially as a separate one shot, I decided it worked better as a separate chapter. And this gives the fic a little bit more of a romantic feel. Just a little.

Oh Snap, she had done it. And by it, she of course meant, well, sex. With him.

This was not her highest moment. And if it was, what would that say about her? That sex with her proclaimed enemy was on her Top Ten Events of Awesome. She had fraternized with the enemy. Fraternized!

Vork wouldn't like this. Clara and Tink, they'd just have a ball. … Wait, why was she planning on telling her Guild about this? Boundaries! There are some lines that Guildies don't have to cross together. Those very nice lines where she kept her sex life, ahem, personal life to herself.

It wasn't like it was that good. Like he, that tricky anarchist, was any good. Not that he was bad. Or that the night was bad. Actually, dinner had been kind of yummy, and desert was... well, the actual desert was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, and had been ignored for... other reasons. Reasons that were currently sleeping soundly (oh god, she hoped soundly) next to her.

This couldn't end well.

Where was a therapist when you needed one? She should join a support group. Awkward Anonymous. For those who find themselves cringing the next morning. Knowing her luck though, she'd end up the only one at a meeting.

Okay, all she had to do was get up, find her clothes, grab the desert and get the frak out of this apartment. Maybe get some waffles, or pancakes, a few pieces of bacon. A biscuit or two wouldn't hurt. She really needed some comfort food right now. Where was the nearest waffle house anyway? She should Google it. Her phone had an app, right? That would work. Where was her phone? In her pants pocket. Her pants were...? She looked around and they wouldn't show up in her line of sight.

That's when she realized that she had worn a skirt. A skirt! And brought out her fancy purse. And gone on a date. With the anarchist.

She checked again whether he was still sleeping.

He was and she was glad, because her stress was maxed, and her present situation wasn't very conducive for logging onto her avatar and taking down a few trolls to get herself straightened out.

She was definitely in a pickle. Pickle'd. She was pickle'd, and she still didn't know exactly where she had left the majority of her clothes, or what to do with the kilt currently occupying her northern territories. Maybe if she just slowly, steadily, and stealthily slipped to her right, turned a bit there and wiggled – gently – over that crease in the covers she could –

"I hope you're not taking that with you, it's my favorite kilt."

Stealth had obviously been maxed out without her knowledge.


End file.
